Kingdom Bloodline

Chapter 272 YC
Dragon Sky City, Spear District.

Old Booker turned off the light he had kept on to attract customers, lamenting yet another day with no business and a tough time.

The Spear District is an interesting place: it is neither as poor and backward as the Shield District or Hammer District, nor as prestigious as the Axe District or Arrow District, nor as lively as the Bow District, Sword District, or Armor District. However, it has a relatively high slope in Dragon Sky City. Most of the residents here are the families of the king's loyal servants who hold some official position but have not yet obtained a title, or commoner merchants who are wealthy but cannot afford to live in the noble district. Thus, the Spear District has become an awkward area.

But Old Buk, a hotel owner originally from Commaswarir, was one of the few who made a living in this awkward, in-between situation: he saw the business opportunities hidden within it.

Old Booker's inn was clean and tidy, with decent decorations and a budget that was neither too high nor too low. Yet, it always attracted customers of average status—such as wealthy but unranked merchants or craftsmen, or impoverished nobles who were short of money but did not want to lose face, or travelers who came from afar and were unfamiliar with the local market.

These people, who often come from afar to wait for an audience with "important figures," are neither qualified to stay too long in the axe and arrow sections nor willing to lower themselves to the chaotic sword and bow sections (of course, the lowly shield and hammer sections are not worth considering at all). So they often choose to stay at Old Booker's well-organized yet shabby inn in the spear section.

After countless hardships, Old Booker and his family finally settled down in Mao District.

Unfortunately, since the assassination of Prince Morar, relations between the two great powers of the Western Continent have suddenly become tense.

Rumors of conscription, tax increases, war, and supply shortages kept spreading, and the tense atmosphere in the city caused Old Booker's business to plummet over the past month or so. Recently, he only had one guest staying at the hotel. He could only lament his bad luck and, as usual, cut costs from the purchase of alcohol and the wages of odd jobs in order to keep the hotel afloat.

When news of Prince Xingchen's arrival on his mission arrived, he thought the crisis was over.

Until last night, old Booker was awakened from his sleep.

The bright moon has mercy!

Why are countless patrol teams rushing through the streets at night?

What were those terrifying loud noises last night?
What were those thunderous roars in the middle of the night?
Although Old Booker was from Cornwall, he was different from his fellow countrymen in Dragon Wing Square who were only interested in making a quick buck and leaving.

Twenty years had passed since Old Booker was still young Booker, from when he saw the Northland girl helping him transport goods in Varir, to when he was completely captivated by her, to when he eloped with his future wife to Dragon City without regard for anything else. So long that the local neighbors, each with their own backers, had become accustomed to his presence, so long that even the most demanding and xenophobic officials would no longer bother him, so long that the young people always thought he was just a Northlander with a rather unusual appearance, so long that even the words he uttered had a strong Northland accent—these were vague, indistinct sounds that he would have ridiculed as "vulgar" when he was young—until his beloved Northland wife passed away, Old Booker had no intention of returning home or moving elsewhere.

But Old Booker could swear to either the Moon Goddess or the Harvest Lady that in all his years living in Dragon City, he had never seen or heard anything like what he had just seen after opening his window last night!
Disaster?

That giant octopus baring its fangs and claws in the direction of the shield zone?

dragon?
That winged lizard that landed in the flames and roared?
The whispers of his neighbors, some in fear and others in awe, filled him with dread. He knew little about the legends and stories of the North: Had he returned to the age of myth?

"Never mind, the big shots will handle it," Old Booker yawned, still shaken by the experience. He picked up his pen, opened the ledger, and was about to calculate the bribes for the order officers and patrols when a black-haired girl of about fifteen or sixteen years old pushed open the door and calmly walked in.

Old Booker instantly dispelled all the gloom on his face, as if he were welcoming his princess.

"Lucy!" the innkeeper exclaimed happily, "My dear daughter!"

But after seeing the girl's clothes clearly, Old Booker immediately frowned.

The girl's head was covered in snow, and she had tightly wrapped a black cloth around her mouth and nose, leaving only her bright eyes visible. She wore a simple but thick cotton coat, her gloves were covered in snowflakes, and her trousers were tightly tied with straps and tucked into her boots.

"I wonder where he's off gallivanting off to again," Old Booker thought unhappily.

"You went out of the city again? With this heavy snow, you didn't even wear a hat!" The shopkeeper forced a stern face, raising a finger: "Didn't I tell you? You saw it yesterday, it's chaotic outside right now. We haven't had many customers in ten days..."

"The patrol team passed through here this morning..."

"Rumors are everywhere, saying that the districts below have been destroyed..."

“Those country bumpkins from the poor areas…” Old Booker looked at his daughter with concern: “You’re a girl, Lucy! You need to be extra careful!”

The girl, her face covered, stomped on the ground to remove the snow from her feet, then patted off her icy gloves and pulled her fair hands out. Only then did she pull down the black cloth covering her face, revealing a rosy cheek in the cold weather, playful and adorable.

The girl turned to the boss and gave him a bright smile.

This silenced old Booker's heart-wrenching lecture.

“Yes, yes, yes, dear father,” the girl waved her hand with a grin, holding onto the handrail of the wooden ladder. “I understand.”

"I'll go upstairs if there's nothing else..."

The girl tilted her head, made a face, and then skipped away, disappearing from Old Booker's sight.

Only the clattering sound of footsteps echoing up the stairs remained.

Old Booker was speechless with anger.

"You, Lucy!"

The boss leaned halfway out, his voice suppressed, and said angrily to the stairs, "Don't disturb the guest—he emphasized that it should be quiet!"

His response was his daughter's drawn-out, "I know—!"

A few low mutterings came from above, which seemed to be about "a talkative old man".

Old Booker pulled his head back down the stairs and sighed deeply.

"The Imperials, calamity, dragons, curfew, and, well, a daughter just as troublesome as her mother..." The boss walked back to his seat helplessly, took a sip of his late wife's favorite ale, and shook his head: "Heaven knows what else awaits me..."

but……

Old Booker rolled his eyes and curled the corners of his mouth:
As long as Lucy is alright, as long as Lucy is happy...

Then life isn't too bad.

Old Booker's previously gloomy mood brightened considerably, and he turned his attention back to his notebook.

But what he didn't know was that the moment his daughter disappeared from his sight, the girl's originally youthful and playful expression suddenly turned cold.

It felt as if frost had suddenly descended.

A faint chill emanated from her body, and her light and cheerful steps immediately became silent, like a black cat walking on tiptoe.

The girl pushed open a wooden door to a room and walked indifferently into the narrow, dark room that smelled strongly of medicine.

On the wooden bed in the room, a man sitting against the wall slowly opened his deep eyes, his expression somber.

He was wrapped in a close-fitting gray coat, yet he remained completely warm despite the cold weather. He rested his hands on his knees, with the sleeves pulled up to his upper arms, and his left arm and right shoulder were wrapped in thick bandages.

The girl closed the door, slowly curving her lips into a cold smile that was the complete opposite of her previous playful one.

She spoke softly to the man, respectfully and patiently uttering a peculiar form of address:

"Father."

The man in gray did not respond, but simply stared out of the slightly ajar window.

“The city is beginning to lift the lockdown,” the girl said, seemingly used to the other person’s silence. She sat down on a stool nearby, picked up a short knife from the table, and said to herself, “It’s probably because the big shots in the palace have reached an agreement.”

"When are we leaving?"

The man in gray still did not respond.

But just a second later, he suddenly looked up, his empty eyes turning into vigilance.

The man in gray gently raised his hand, and a short knife strangely jumped up from the table two meters away and abruptly flew into his hand.

He said calmly, "We have guests."

The girl's pupils flickered, and she stood up, instinctively taking action.

She stretched out her slender, fair fingers—a rarity among northerners—and pulled out the black cloth that had been tied around her neck from her collar, dragging it up to her nose to cover half her face, just as before.

It's like a professional face mask.

It not only covered her face, but also her breath.

She had just pulled up her mask and gripped the dagger in her arms when a shrill voice came from outside the door.

"Long time no see, old friend."

A middle-aged man pushed open the door and walked in, his smooth face beaming with smiles.

This "guest" was dressed in the thick coats commonly seen in northerners, and wore a thick woolen hat that covered his ears. However, he had a flat face that was rare in the western lands, with thin lips and a yellowish complexion. He was likable at first glance.

He breathed on his hand, ignoring the girl beside him, and squinted to adjust to the light in the room.

The girl frowned, but the man on the bed made a gesture that made her suppress her urge to attack.

The guest's smile remained unchanged as he stared straight at the man on the bed and took a step forward.

At this moment, the man in gray suddenly raised his deep eyes, which radiated a cold light.

There are three traps in front of you.

The guest's smile froze on his face, just like his right foot that had just been raised.

The man in gray spoke bluntly and without emotion: "Two of them were fatal."

The flat-faced guest took a deep breath, blinked, shrugged, and seemingly helplessly put his raised right foot back in place.

The girl beside him curled the corners of her lips, silently chuckling to herself.

But the guests' smiles seemed to be glued to their faces, regaining their color amidst the awkwardness.

“Now you’re a veritable king-killing family,” the guest said with a fawning grin, rubbing his hands together. His Common accent had a strange intonation, unlike that of Exter and the Star People, or Commas or the Southwesterners: “Just thinking about it makes one feel…”

The guest paused abruptly—his gaze fell on the bandages on the man's shoulders.

“Oh,” his voice deepened, as if surprised and somewhat realizing, “you’re injured.”

"Accident?"

The girl beside her snorted coldly.

But the gray-clad man on the bed merely glanced indifferently at the guest.

“He was surrounded by sixteen members of the White Blade Guard,” the man said softly.

The guest looked interested.

“Three cuts, each one deeper than the last,” the gray-clad man said nonchalantly, moving his bandaged left arm. “It’s good enough that you came back.”

The flat-faced guest stopped smiling, lowered his head, and quietly looked at the man.

It's like peeping through a door.

"Where's your brother?"

The guest grinned and asked softly, "Such a difficult task, and he sent you out alone?"

“He has his own place to go,” the man said quietly.

The silence lasted for a few seconds.

The guest stared at the ground beneath his feet, stretched his hands out from behind his back, and silently rubbed them together in front of him: "Is the injury serious?"

The girl, sensing something was amiss, frowned.

The gray-clad man's eyes remained expressionless as he stared at the guest from a distance.

The man slowly curled the corners of his mouth and stretched his shoulders: "If you want to kill me, now is a good time."

"While I can't use the knife on either of my arms."

The girl's eyes hardened, and she gripped the dagger in her arms tightly.

We are just waiting for the order.

The guest raised an eyebrow slightly.

He leaned forward, motionless, staring intently at the man in front of him, especially scrutinizing the short knife in the other's hand, his gaze both gentle and eerie.

The atmosphere suddenly became strange.

The man responded silently, calm and composed.

Finally, just as the girl was about to lose her patience, the guest suddenly grinned and laughed.

"Ha ha ha ha……"

The guest squinted, tilted his head back, and laughed heartily, as if he had encountered something very amusing.

He raised his finger to eye level, pointed at the man, and gave him a playful "I caught you" look.

"You're getting more and more humorous, Baannette!"

He laughed loudly, his index finger twitching faster and faster in the air, his tone exaggerated: "That's exactly what I like about you!"

The gray-clad man, known as Baannet, simply stared at him coldly, remaining silent for a long time.

The guest, however, did not feel neglected at all. He put away his smile and fingers and turned to the girl with great interest.

"Oh, girl, you must be the talented 'Lucy'!"

The guest gave a polite bow, continued to smile strangely, and said in his odd accent, "My men are truly worthy of your father's help, thanks to your assistance..." But he was clearly unwelcome.

"Stay away from me," the veiled girl said with disgust. "You weird Far Easterner."

“Oh, how cold,” the guest from the Far East replied patiently, without the slightest offense: “It has broken my heart.”

The man on the bed gently flicked his dagger.

"as far as I know."

The gray-clad Baannet snorted coldly, interrupting the other man: "You never put yourself in danger."

He said coldly, "But you still came."

Upon hearing this, the guest from the Far East awkwardly closed his mouth and sighed, seemingly helpless.

“This client is not easy to deal with... You know, that Grand Duke who even killed his own brother... If I hadn’t come, the men would have messed things up.” He shrugged.

and……

The guest from the Far East sighed softly: "More important is that boy who represents the Palace of Rejuvenation."

But the man remained unmoved: "Why did you come looking for me?"

The guest exhaled and chuckled twice.

“My friend got some information about Xingchen Kingdom,” the guest winked, as if about to pull out a great treasure. “You know, it’s not easy for us to get information from there these days…”

The man in gray's voice turned cold: "Get to the point."

"You might be interested in," the Far Eastern guest quickly changed the subject, making the otherwise abrupt transition smooth: "Several population gathering points along the border have encountered invaders..."

Baannette snorted again, "The point."

Without any hesitation, the Far Easterner said the next sentence: "It's very much like the style of the Surridon family, both in terms of swordsmanship and physique."

At that moment, the girl beside him caught her breath.

It was as if she had remembered something.

The Far Eastern guest raised his eyebrows, observing Baannet's expression.

The man in gray remained unresponsive, but suddenly glanced out the window.

The people from the Far East were somewhat puzzled.

But a few seconds later, he also paused slightly and looked out the window.

The Far Easterners' expressions turned serious and solemn.

"So you have a tail too," the gray-clad man said calmly.

The Far Eastern guest gave an awkward smile, seemingly embarrassed.

"Shall I cook for you?" Baanne asked casually.

The guest from the Far East glanced at the dagger in the other person's hand, sighed softly, but then put on a cheerful smile again.

"How dare you."

He bowed slightly: "This is my private matter."

“Alright,” the man in gray nodded gently, “then goodbye.”

No sooner had he finished speaking than the man named Baannet jumped off the bed.

The moment his legs touched the ground, the five short knives on the table seemed to come alive and leaped up, flying towards Baannet from all directions.

Then, obediently, he inserted the swords into several different scabbards all over his body.

Upon witnessing this incredible scene, the Far Easterners couldn't help but frown slightly.

“The trap has been disarmed,” the gray-clad man said softly as he walked past the Far Easterner, draping a large robe over his bandages. “You can come in now.”

The guest from the Far East bowed politely.

The girl scoffed lightly, glanced at the Far Eastern guest with a sly smile, and followed her father out of the room.

The moment the two men left his side, the Far Eastern guest looked up, his eyes turning icy cold.

He gently closed the door, looked out the window, and sighed.

“Fifteen years,” the guest said, uttering a language distinct from the common language of the Western Continent, composed of individual syllables: “You still managed to find me.”

Suddenly, a hand appeared at the window and grabbed the windowsill—the second Far Easterner deftly flipped himself into the room.

"It's been a long time," said Gu, the owner of the Far East butcher shop who had just climbed in through the window and was a man who had met Thales once before. Standing by the window, he patted the snowflakes off his hands and said in the same language, "Senior Brother Teng."

"Manager Teng."

----

On the stairs outside the house, the man in gray and the veiled girl quietly descended the stairs.

“That is…” The girl turned her head, glanced at the room she had just left, and couldn’t help but ask, “The Shadow Master?”

The man didn't answer, he just nodded.

The girl's eyes tightened.

"Father, what he just said about the intruder," the girl asked tentatively, "could it be Mother or my sisters..."

"How much?" the expressionless man asked abruptly.

The girl was slightly taken aback: "Huh?"

“That guy,” the gray-clad man said coldly, “how many lies has he told in total?”

"A lie..." the girl said, somewhat puzzled.

"Eleven."

“From the moment he stepped into the room until we left, he told eleven lies,” the man concluded softly, his eyes grave. “Nine of them were fatal—if I hadn’t recognized one and reacted accordingly to the provocation…”

The man suppressed the trembling in his palms, and with a flick of his left hand, caught a drop of blood seeping from the bandage in mid-air, preventing it from dripping to the ground: "That would be a very ugly sight."

The girl was taken aback and blinked: "But he didn't say much..."

“Lies don’t need to be spoken,” the gray-clad man coldly interrupted the girl. “These words came from a terrible lady. Remember them well.”

“But if you hadn’t kindly reminded him,” the girl said, somewhat unconvinced, “that hermaphrodite would have died in your trap as soon as he entered the house…”

But then the masked girl seemed to realize something, and her words faltered.

She looked at the man in disbelief.

“Yes,” the man said calmly, his expression unchanged. “That was one of the lies—he saw through the trap long ago, and if I hadn’t warned him, the trap wouldn’t have hurt him at all.”

"But, but if you don't warn him and let the trap be triggered..."

“Then he will see through our true intentions, know our dependence on the trap, and begin to doubt my condition,” the gray-clad man tightened the bleeding bandage. “He will know how much we fear him right now.”

The girl stopped speaking and instinctively gripped the weapon under her sleeve.

She then realized that she had just walked back and forth in front of the Prison River.

“So next time,” the man said, not even glancing at the girl beside him, his face expressionless and his tone cold, “don’t bring your tails to the door again.”

Upon hearing this, the girl's shoulders trembled slightly.

“There’s one more thing,” the man in gray had clearly noticed the girl’s strange behavior, but he didn’t react: “Your mother and sister are both dead.”

"Don't mention them again."

The girl lowered her head deeply.

Her eyes were obscured.

They went down the stairs.

"Lucy, why did you come down with the guests?"

Old Booker looked up from his chair, staring at the girl whose face was veiled in black, and asked with surprise, "And you're wearing a scarf too. Are you going out?"

But the girl ignored him and looked at the man in gray.

“Esteemed guest,” Old Booker finally realized, looking at the man solicitously, “would you like to settle your bill?”

The man in gray nodded slightly and whispered to the girl, "Be clean, don't leave any traces."

Old Booker watched his daughter's interaction with the guest with a puzzled expression, completely baffled.

The veiled girl nodded, and under Old Booker's questioning gaze, she walked up to him and opened her arms to embrace him.

It's like a daughter hugging her father.

"What are you doing, Lucy?" Old Booker looked at his daughter's actions with a mixture of amusement and exasperation, hugging her back helplessly while giving the icy guest an apologetic look: "I still have to entertain guests..."

But he didn't finish his sentence.

"laugh!"

Old Booker's expression changed, and he shuddered as he hugged his daughter!
Old Booker's teeth began to chatter, his face contorted in shock. He lowered his head with difficulty and looked at his daughter in his arms.

“Lucy, you…” Old Booker’s trembling grew more and more violent, as if he was enduring immense pain.

But nothing could compare to the disbelief, pain, and despair in his eyes at that moment.

"Puff puff!"

Old Booker trembled three more times, each one more terrifying than the last!
His eyebrows were twisted into a knot, but all he could find in his daughter's eyes was coldness and indifference.

The girl released her embrace and gently pushed old Booker away.

"Thump!" Old Booker collapsed to the ground, his face filled with despair.

His lips trembled as he looked at the blood-stained dagger in the girl's right hand.

A damp and warm sensation spread from the boss's aching back, soaking his clothes and wetting the ground.

No.

Lucy.

Do not!
Old Booker, lying in a pool of blood, pursed his lips and stared intently at the dagger in the girl's hand.

In the agonizing pain that almost blurred his senses, he reached out his weak right hand to his beloved daughter, and said in a daze, his voice trembling with tears:
“Lucy…no…why…”

But the girl simply looked down at him coldly, her eyes revealing disdain and disgust.

“Listen carefully, dear father.”

“My name isn’t ‘Lucy,’ that’s just my work name,” the veiled girl crouched down gently and whispered in Old Booker’s ear, “My real name is…”

She spoke in a voice that only two people could hear:

Jessica Surreyton.

Old Booker's eyes narrowed.

But apart from helplessly scratching at the ground, he could no longer say anything.

The man in gray stood silently behind them, without saying a word.

Jessica silently stood up, glanced at her dagger, and gently wiped away the blood.

On the dagger, two letters appeared on the blood-soaked blade:

YC.

Sorry, the next chapter is the end of the volume.

P.S. In fact, this chapter is foreshadowing something.

Friendly reminder: If you have any questions about this chapter, you may want to go back and read "Side Story 3: Business", Chapter 35 of "The Heir to the Kingdom", Chapters 41 and 59 of "Dancing with Dragons", and Chapters 12 and 13 of "Dragon Blood".



(End of this chapter)